Dark Stories of the North
by La Sorelli
Summary: A random oneshot; the rooftop scene with Raoul and Christine. Leroux based  except Christine has dark hair, just FYI  and the title obviously comes from ALW's "Little Lotte/The Mirror". R and R!


The cold, fresh air of early spring envelops us as we run out on to the roof. I follow her closely, hoping she'll calm down and speak to me. She doesn't stop running until she reaches the edge of the roof, overlooking the whole city from hundreds of feet up. I worry that because of her state of mind she might jump off. So I cautiously go and stand behind her. She leans over the edge, breathing in heavy gasps, her dark curls flying in the wind, her blue cloak fanning out behind her.

"Christine…"

"Shhhh." she hushes me in a harsh hiss.

We stand there for minutes in silence, until I can no longer stand it.

"Christine, tell me what it is that bothers you so."

"You will not believe me." She mutters, shaking her dark head.

"I will…please, come away from the edge. You make me nervous."

Wordlessly, she steps down, still stubbornly facing away from me. I touch her shoulder lightly and she flinches abruptly, like I have just stabbed her.

"What is it?" I ask in fear, drawing my hand away.

"Nothing, my shoulder is just quite sore." She shrugs, rubbing at her thin shoulder with a pale hand. I stand next to her so I can see her face. She is in tears.

"Christine!" I seize her hands vigorously, they are deathly cold. I pull her around to face me. "Christine, my dearest, what has made you so upset?" she closes her eyes, tears fall down her white cheeks and she shakes her head. And the horrible notion dawns on me…

"Who…?" I correct myself, swallowing hard. "_Who_ has made you so upset?"

"You do not know him." She says, pulling her hands away. My own hands drop limply to my sides and once again I feel it—the cold stab of jealousy. I turn my head away from her, setting my jaw so fiercely that it hurts.

"So it is a man, is it? A man has done this to you?"

"Yes, Raoul…a man." She replies. I look at her again. _She…_with her watery blue eyes and perfect lips and skin like cut ivory. I feel myself shaking with envy and I have to turn away once more.

"So," my throat feels thick and scratchy, "is he a lover then?"

Her silence is all the answer I need, so I continue with my heartbroken interrogation.

"It's the man I heard in your dressing room. Erik, isn't it? The teacher, the one with the beautiful voice; the one who whisked you away for all those days, he is the one. He's your lover and he has upset you."

"No Raoul, you don't understand…" she suddenly reaches for me, wanting comfort, but I jump away from her like she was a snake.

"God, I feel like such an idiot. What a fool you make of me, Christine Daaé! Here I am, prepared to pour out my very heart to you and you are already taken!" my raving echoes across the zinc and lead pathways of the rooftop.

"That isn't it, Raoul!" she insists, "It's not what you think!"

She tries to come nearer to me and again I leap away, so angry I fear I might be possessed enough to strike her if she comes too close.

"Then tell me what it is! Tell me you weren't with this man for five days."

"I cannot because I was with him."

I let out a ridiculous roar of frustration.

"And who else, but a lover, would you be with _alone_ for five days?"

She bites her lip, a terrible anxiety overwhelming her beautiful face.

"It's true. I was with Erik. But it isn't what you think. Not at all." She tells me as firmly as she could manage.

I stare at her, breathing heavily from my bursts of fury.

"So…he is not your lover, then?"

Her shadowy eyes widen and she shakes her head frantically.

"Then, why did you not deny it when I accused him of being so?"

She gulps, suddenly starting to shiver. She crosses her arms across her chest, pulling her cloak tighter to her. Looking absolutely horrified, she whispers,

"Because he may have heard me…"

"He may have heard you? All the way up here? How?" I question her insistently. I felt like I was constantly asking questions every time I was in her presence.

"He hears everything. He is everywhere…the walls, the floors…it's all his…" she trails off; speaking in a strange, dark voice I have never heard before.

In her petrified terror she begins to wring her hands violently. As I watch her twist her fingers around each other, I notice something glinting in the moonlight. It was gold and not just any gold, but the gold of a _ring_.

"What is that?" I demand, my anger returning in seconds. Snapping out of her frightened trance, she looks at her hand and hid it beneath her cloak rapidly.

"It's nothing…a trinket…"

"Hah!" I sneer and grab her arm, forcing it rather brutally from beneath the folds of the blue satin.

"Raoul, please!" she begs, trying to wriggle away before I could see. But there it was, plain as day; a wedding band of pure, plain gold.

"You dare to lie to me? You think you can call _this _a trinket?" I shake her hand back and forth, gesturing wildly to the ring, "This is a wedding ring! It is Erik's ring! You liar! You told me he was not your lover!"

"You do not understand!" she bursts into tears again, hysterically this time, yanking her hand from me. "I've told you he isn't my lover! How can you call me a liar when you do not even know the truth?"

"He is not your lover, yet you wear his ring? What is your excuse for that?" I shout at her, and then in jest I add, "Does he force you to wear it, this dark lover of yours?"

"Yes, Raoul!" she bursts, looking almost relieved, "That is just it!"

I am completely taken aback. I had not been serious with what I said…and now was at a loss for words because I had been right.

"I know it sounds insane, but Raoul…oh Raoul, this whole thing…my whole life…it feels like I'm living in some sort of madhouse…in a nightmare!"

"And this…" I stumble over my words, "this is because of him?"

"Yes it is." She says, so sadly. Shaking with fresh sobs and fear, she falls to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

My anger is overcome by guilt, as well as tenderness and protective instincts. My Christine is being tormented by a madman, who has obviously fallen in love with her and out of some mad delusion, believes that she loves him too…

"Oh God…Christine…" I kneel down in front of her, putting my hands on her shaking shoulders, "I'm so sorry, my darling. I'm _so sorry_. I did not know. I was foolish and rash…I'm so impulsive when it comes to you. I just could not bear the thought of you with another man."

I gently pull her hands away from her face, tilting her chin up so I can look upon her tearstained face. The words I have wanted to say for years, the words I have carried in my heart for so long, finally slip out.

"I love you, Christine."

She looks at me, not with returned affection as I had expected, but with great pity. And then in a moaning grief stricken voice she utters the words,

"No you can't!"

"I cannot?" I ask in painful shock, my poor young heart feeling a terrible, sharp thrust of agony, "I see…"

Seeing my pitiable, hurt expression, she cups my face with both her hands.

"Oh no, my dear…I did not mean for that to sound how it did. I adore you, Raoul. Since I was fifteen, my heart has beaten only for you."

A powerful flame lights beneath my heart. I feel my mouth curve into a joyful smile. I see her sweet, honest face and have no reason to doubt her words, the words I had longed to hear for so many years!

"Then you love me?" I blurt out excitedly.

"Raoul, hush!" she whispers nervously, clamping her hand over my mouth. "If he hears, he'll kill us both!"

"Kill us?" I mutter from beneath her hand. She pulls her hand away, clutching at her heart.

"Yes. I'm not supposed to fall in love with anyone. I told you that…and Mama Valerius, she told you too when you came to the flat."

"He has forbidden you to love? What horror! What madness!"

She only responds with a miserable facial expression. My knees are feeling week, and guiding her along with me, we shift from our uncomfortable kneel and lean against the statue of Apollo. I can feel her shivering next to me, so I put my jacket on her. She looks up at me gratefully, the dreadful grief illuminating her blue eyes.

"Oh Christine," I hold her small hand tightly, "how you must hate him!"

"No, Raoul." She shakes her head, "I do not hate him."

Flabbergasted, I furrow my eyebrows, "You do _not_ hate him? Yet, you do not love him? Then, pray tell, what is it that you feel for this…monster?"

"Fear!" she replies passionately, clasping her free hand over the two already entwined, her eyes become enlarged again, "Fear and the most _awful _pity!"

"Pity?" I exclaim, feeling my own eyes grow a few sizes, "how can you feel pity for this man?"

"Because…." She looks over her shoulder, leaning her head closer to me and swallowing down cold air, "_I have seen him_."

"What do you mean-?"

She silences me again, putting her finger on my lips, willing me to let her speak. I nod at her understandingly, encouraging her to enlighten me with her tale. She inhales deeply, gathering her all the courage in her small body. And she begins to tell me the story—the strange and terrifying story which I shall never forget! She tells the story in the same way, almost same voice, in which Old Daddy Daaé told us the dark stories of the North so long ago…


End file.
